Riches
by TMBlue
Summary: COMPLETE! Ron has taken a position with a top secret team of Aurors, traveling abroad. Hermione plots ways to see him, while he's not allowed to reveal his location, meeting at inns around the world to spend the night together.


_**A/N:** So, this story. I don't like to throw out words like "most," because it feels risky, in case something is being forgotten or just not remembered properly... But. I'm going to go ahead and say it now: this is probably **the "most" smutty smut I have written**. Let's just go with that. _

_I found this in my docs, barely started, a few weeks ago. It was just the first 500 words or so, with a few random snips stuck in there. For whatever reason, I got back into it and have been writing it on my phone for the past two days. Hope you enjoy!_

 _Oh! And it's Wednesday... That's clever. Happy hump day, ladies & gents :D_

* * *

 **Riches**

Violet silk sheets cascaded in waves over milk-smooth skin. Frost built against another window pane, snow drifting down from a pure white sky. And a blazing fire crackled in a chocolate brick fireplace at the foot of a four poster bed, glazed mahogany paneling stretching out along the walls to darken the room, in warm contrast with the all-encompassing chill outside. But though the smell of new parchment wafted from a brand new stack on the bedside table, there was no scent of sweet summer grass... and there was another, more glaring absence - the last, most jarring lack of _his_ smell, perhaps one only _she_ had ever really absorbed in that specific way, that made him who he was.

Her toes flexed between layers of cool silk, and she closed her eyes, hair fanning around her head in relaxed, external chaos. But her heart pounded far too quickly. And she was anything but relaxed.

It was the fear, much more than the anticipation or hope, that bound her. And she didn't know if she'd see him today, or if she'd pack in the morning and await his scribbled apology, weeks later when he'd finally receive her letter, the one that told him to meet her here... She both marveled and adored the pure fact that _they_ could not change him, that the expanse of the whole world could not change him. He'd go, a part of so few chosen, traveling with fully qualified Aurors, putting himself among the ranks of those who had worked for years to be where he'd found himself, after the war had ended.

He'd taken this particular job as a way to live better, to look forward to the life he could have when he'd finished... in a few years... But he'd come back sun-burned, lips chapped, and she'd set him right, revealing the pale, freckled skin she knew so well, memorised patterns and tones she dreamt of feeling when too much open time would stretch between their last meeting and the one she'd hope for. And she'd think of the next time... He'd see her and smile that shy, knowing smile, that new one he'd fashioned when they'd first made love, when he'd first seen her robes and knickers on the floor beside his bed. He'd nearly forget his own name as his long, bony fingers tangled her already ruined hair, teeth grazing her jaw as he mumbled swear words she'd never heard before.

But tonight, he could be anywhere on earth, too far away to reach... or within apparating distance.

She'd grown so tired of not knowing, and on late afternoons, particularly like this one, she'd wonder why they did this. Why, day after day, he'd repair the world with his fists and his strategies, and she'd repair it buried in the pages of a million books.

She longed for her home, the one only found in the touch of his hands, palms against her stomach, and his eyes, somehow more real than life.

Maybe he wanted worthiness, through work and galleons, the things he never had. But how could he ever hope to achieve it when he never believed he really could? He saw her, astonishingly, outside of attainable, though he'd always had her, all along. She wanted to scream, to shake him awake from thinking he needed to prove anything to her. But it was too hard when he'd brush her hair away from her face and tell her so many things they'd really done, him and Harry, bits of paradise lit up by freedom, and all for what she'd always stood. So he'd gather his things, and he'd think he was doing such a wonderful job of hiding all of his sadness from her... and he'd go. And she'd try to imagine what he was going to do next, what stories he'd tell her with sparkling eyes when he'd feel he had made her _really_ proud.

But he made her proud when he'd simply breathe, when his fingertips would re-learn the curve of her spine... the time it took to go from fully clothed to afterwards... which tended to shrink at every new meeting. And how could she ever put into words what she felt? That she was irrational and unpredictable when all of her childhood had been built on logic and excellence?

He didn't know that he exceeded all of her heart, every ounce of reason dashed as he made her see the world, as if it had been so wrong before, so skewed before he'd set it on the right track.

She emerged from the depths of a feather bed to watch the door, blinking dry eyes as she pondered another night alone. It wasn't unexpected, and she tried, every time, not to put too much into hoping he'd received her letter. Odds were not often with them, and it was her own fault, in a way, for not figuring him out sooner. She'd spend nights decoding from the smell of his latest piece of parchment, which she knew he'd wafted through a particularly specific scent, a clue as to his whereabouts when he was somewhat stupidly not allowed to simply tell her...

The snow outside fell harder, gusts of wind whistling as she reached for the dried flower he'd pressed into his last letter, a variety only found in certain regions, such a delightful clue she knew _he_ knew she'd love. Like untangling a riddle, only with a prize at the end that compared to nothing else. So she wished. Every time. And the disappointment in being too late, or not getting it right at all, might have crushed her the first time. But it weighed as nothing more than open room for improvement now.

She'd been so sure about this one. Positive. And she didn't even have to be close. Only close enough for him to apparate to her. She'd given him word, dates and times and a place... But the sun was starting to set, and she elongated her back against the only warmed bit of bed, sliding her head off the pillows to close her eyes again.

She steadied her breathing, slow and deep, and sighed out a shaky bit of that fear that would not separate from her, not completely.

And then.

A creak of rusty hinges and the thuds of heavy boot steps.

She sat up with a gasp, hair wild and silk sheets rippling down off of her naked breasts to pool in her lap and around her hips as her eyes landed exactly where they needed to.

He dropped his bag with a thud, snow falling off his shoulders, caked thickly to his robes, and melting in his fiery hair. His eyes widened for half a second, taking in the welcome sight of her naked form, before his face lit up with _that_ smile...

"Hey."

She cried out a strangled, incoherent sound, crawling out of bed, bare feet hitting fire-warmed rugs as she hitched a loud breath, flinging her arms around his neck and soaking the front of her own naked body in the frozen bits of snow still stuck to his cloak.

He replied with the startled sound of a body thudding against his ribs, followed by the strong support of his own arms around her, lifting her effortlessly off the floor

"I didn't think you were coming..." she nearly sobbed into his neck, and he squeezed her tighter before setting her right again, feet back solidly on the floor.

"Had to," he rumbled. "Couldn't stand it."

She sighed happily, arms still around his neck, and he glanced down, between their bodies.

"You're quite... _naked_."

"Clever observation," she laughed.

He grinned lopsidedly, and she felt him transfer his weight, kicking a foot back to shut the door with a bang. She had half a second to widen her eyes with the possible embarrassment of having been seen by someone else, completely nude. But he cupped his gloved hands around her cheeks, brushing cold, wooly thumbs over her lips, and she was too captivated to care any longer.

He seemed to drift through a dream, lazily smiling down at her as he focused his eyes soundly on hers. And then, suddenly, she caught a shift in him, and he released her.

"Oh!" He bent to retrieve something from his bag, and she wrapped her own arms around her snow-chilled body as she waited. When he straightened up again, he saw her lips trembling, and he gave her an apologetic cringe. "Ah, sorry."

She shook her head... and he handed her a flower, a living one of the same variety he'd pressed into his last letter. As she took it, he stripped off his snowy cloak, robe and coat, letting them fall with a rippling, muffled plop to the floor.

She smiled soundly at the flower, eyes watering as he removed his gloves and dropped them to join the growing mess of his things by the door. And then, before she could comprehend what he was doing, he'd scooped her up into his arms and was carrying her.

"Ron!" she half-shouted, half-laughed, trying to protect the flower he'd given her as he made his way to the bed, placing her gently on top of the sheets. Backing away again, he grinned down at her, toeing off his boots without bothering to unlace them, a habit she knew _he_ knew she hated. Oh, but how little she could bring herself to care just then, and she placed the small flower on the bedside table next to the pressed one before gathering the sheets around her body, under her arms in bunched-up disarray.

She watched him so closely, taking in every single inch of him. Muscles beneath a ripped, worn t-shirt, hipbones trying to break through at the top of his belt...

But his grin fell slowly, replaced quickly with a look of determined seriousness, one she'd only ever seen once, moments before he'd kissed her for the second time, when it had been his turn and he'd had to overthink it for all of eternity, before actually going through with it...

"What is it?" she asked, bordering on uneasy...

He sat on the edge of the bed, and she crawled up next to him, watching his profile with inquisitive eyes.

"I might have done something..." he said, and she could call up no logical suspicions as to what he could mean, but her eyebrows shot up anyway.

"What?" she asked, now stuck somewhere between cautiously timid, painfully curious and heart-poundingly alarmed.

He swallowed, licked his lips, and rubbed his own hands slowly together, staring a hole through the carpet.

"What if..." he began, "we have to live in a dingy, one bedroom flat, and I have to get you to help me with the spells every time the plumbing fucks up?"

She laughed, shaking her head as her heart raced, though she didn't yet understand why...

"And we have to keep reusing the same two plates, two tea mugs, two sets of forks and spoons-"

"Ron..." she interrupted slowly, body tingling with an unknown excitement. What had he done...

"-and I can't really take you to fancy dinners or buy much of anything new, at least not for a while," he continued, "and we've got to stitch up old jumpers, and all of my left socks have holes in the big toe-"

"Ron, _what is it_?!" she breathed, eyes wide and glistening, demanding, her heart beating a hole through her chest.

He turned finally to look at her, a softness to his features that she hadn't seen much of since the war had ended.

"I quit."

Her heart came crashing to a shuddering stop.

"You-you... what?!" She could hardly breathe, and his warmth called her closer. But she didn't dare move to believe it. Not quite yet.

He grimaced and looked so deeply into her eyes.

"I don't want to do this bullshit anymore, do you? I miss you too fucking much. I _hate_ it."

The stubbornness of his final sentence, punctuated with such utter loathing, broke a brilliant smile free, to spread thoroughly across her face.

"This is really what you want?" she asked around her delighted grin.

"Hell yes," he said, grinning back, eyes sparkling once again, the way they were meant to.

"I love you," she sighed.

Her sheet dropped to her lap again, and he was far too distracted for a moment, gaze wandering thoroughly over her, before he cleared his throat and looked up into her eyes again.

"You know we'll be bloody poor, with me back at the Ministry..." he said slowly, running a roughened hand up her goose-fleshed arm. "I know you do alright, but they underpay you by loads, and it's not looking like that'll change soon, right? It's a huge cut, me going back to London..."

"I don't care. I never cared for one second about that! If this is really what you want, then it's perfect. You know that. You _should_ know that..." she said, breathing through parted lips as she observed his pure sincerity, so close to the surface, where he so often wore it when he was like this, so close, with her.

"Reckon I do know. Personally, I'd rather come home, every night, and be with you, and live on the streets, and eat your mushrooms for every meal-"

She punched his shoulder lightly, and he grinned, laughter bubbling to the surface before he gently shook his head, resuming a note of seriousness.

"But it's not really fair," he continued. "You deserve so much more than that..."

"That's rubbish. And even if it wasn't, I don't _care_ , Ron," she said firmly, almost rolling her eyes. "I never did. You just never listened. I only want you to be happy."

"That's all I ever wanted, too, you know... for you."

She blinked back tears and shook her head, inching closer to him...

"You're not a bad cook," she said, wrinkling her nose up at him and quirking an eyebrow.

He gave her a confused smile, and she laughed.

"I think we'll be okay in that tiny flat with my spellwork, for the plumbing, and your cooking... and hours and hours together every night..."

He closed his eyes blissfully, and when he opened them again, he stood, unzipping his jeans and tearing his worn t-shirt up over his head, muscles constricting with desire as he completely shed his clothing. She swallowed and looked him over... first, for injury, and then, for herself. It was incredible how quickly they could go from serious words to this, and though she could simply blame nudity for his current state, he never looked at anyone else the way he looked at her. He never had, he'd told her. And though it had surprised her, at first, to be so thoroughly desired, she found it hard to prove incorrect...

His lips were slightly parted, hair falling into his eyes, a very light flush colouring his cheeks, so soft that anyone who didn't know him like she did would likely not have noticed.

He exhaled deeply, crawling into bed to hover over her as she scooted up and backward, eyes locked together until her head came to rest on the messy stack of pillows at the headboard. He grabbed a fistful of silk sheet far to his right, arching his arm up into the air, tossing the light material over their bodies to flutter onto them as he sank down on top of her, pushing her body softly into the mattress as his lips crashed against hers.

She closed her eyes, parting her thighs to clutch his hips between her knees, and he pressed her deeper into thick feathers, hands on either side of her head, fingers brushing through her hair, against her ears, along the curve of her jaw. His tongue met hers, teeth colliding briefly as their lips moved between each other's. He had a habit of sliding his lips hypnotisingly down, until he was running his tongue over her bottom lip. She squirmed underneath him, feeling the muscles of his shoulders and upper back with shaking hands as he lowered his chest to crush her exactly as much as she wanted. Too much, he had thought, long ago, when he'd first lost his ability to hold himself up, after they'd made love for the first time.

Sliding his right hand down along her side, he paused with his thumb extended toward her hipbone, between their bodies. His long fingers dipped underneath her, imprinting her arse. She moaned thickly, echoed into the back of his throat as he shuddered against her, withdrawing his lips a quarter inch.

"Bloody hell," he mumbled, as his bare erection came into contact with the soft, thorough wetness between her legs.

"Can you blame me?" she whispered, shyly. "I've been waiting all day..."

He laughed, as he lifted his weight slightly off of her, supported by his left elbow. Running his hand back up her side, his thumb brushed heavily over her hardened left nipple, and he groaned as she gasped. He dropped his forehead to hers as his hand moved smoothly downward, around to the small of her back before cupping her arse once more.

"Please..." she breathed. His eyes snapped shut, forehead creased with restraint.

"Wait..."

He slid down her body, until his mouth was level with her right breast, using only his teeth to graze her nipple, back and forth. She clawed his scalp, accidentally, and almost apologised before she heard him groan against her skin in a way that didn't seem at all as if he'd minded...

His right hand traveled around from her arse to completely cover her left breast, and she squeezed him tightly with her thighs again, a spasm of pleasure lowering through her and pulsing between her legs. Usually, she would want him inside her, before she was this close... needing to be _closer_. But today felt different. Today, she wouldn't have to say goodbye.

Overwhelmed by this, she felt hot tears rolling silently down her cheeks as his fingers inched off her breast, uncovering her impossibly sensitive skin to the cold, before his thumb and long first finger pinched the very tip of her nipple, feather lightly, in that way she'd once begged him to do.

The feeling was so intense that another wave of tears slipped free, and she had to hold her breath to keep from sobbing out loud.

His eyes darted up as he lifted his head tentatively from his task. How could he read her feelings now, even when she didn't make a sound? She would never understand it.

"I'm sorry," he rasped, eyebrows knitted.

"No!" she whispered harshly, smiling down at him.

He lifted an eyebrow, right palm flattened against her ribs now.

"Thought maybe I was actually torturing you..."

"A bit," she laughed, "but I don't want you to stop."

"I know you usually don't want me to do this, before..."

"Because we never have enough time."

He licked his lips, adorably waiting for more, eyes darting round her face to the tear tracks she could feel, coating her skin.

"I just can't believe you're c-coming home with me," she added, as explanation, shivering with a new mixture of both pleasure and an unbelievable sense of peace.

He swallowed, and his forehead creased as his muscles softened. He dragged his body back up until their faces were an inch apart, the sheet that had been half-covering his back now sliding down to his shins.

"Neither can I," he whispered, ducking his face to her neck and wiping some of the wetness from her cheek with his own scruffy cheek. His right hand moved up, brushing her hair away from her face until he sniffed gently, kissed her ear, and lifted his head to meet her eyes again.

"You actually thought I was crying because you weren't doing what I wanted?" she asked, incredulously, releasing his shoulders to clutch his face between her hands.

"Not really," he grinned back, "just couldn't figure out what happened. Should have guessed. Reckon it's still hard to believe I make you... _that_ happy."

She grinned but sighed, exasperatedly.

"It really takes a lot for you, doesn't it," she teased.

"Guess so."

He moved a bit, not even consciously, she guessed, but the shifting between her legs was too much, and her head sank deeper into the pillows as she closed her eyes, hands dropping bonelessly away from his face.

Without saying another word, he dragged his lips down along the curve of her jaw, and she arched, lifting her chin into the air as he slid his tongue down the front of her neck.

She let out an airy sort of squeak, and he sighed against her skin as his right hand traced down the outer edge of her left breast, further, until he had to adjust enough to fit his hand between his stomach and her trembling body, fingers crawling down between her legs.

She gasped his name, and he swore unintelligibly against her collarbone as he felt, once again, just how wet she was, with the tips of his fingers. He slid three of them lower, to curve around her arse, as his index finger slowly slipped inside of her. So slowly, in fact, that she wasn't sure she could take it. Her legs tightened around his waist, one hand gripping his left bicep and the other burrowing deep in his hair as he sucked the side of her neck.

"Actual... torture..." she groaned out, and he laughed, vibrating against her skin.

Then, he did something new.

Pushing his finger fully into her now, he squeezed with the rest of his hand, pressing the thickest part of his palm tighter against her by grinding his body into his own hand, forcing everything to move together as she dug her heel into his spine.

"Oh my gggodd..."

"Good?" he breathed into her ear, his hand still trapped between them, curling his free fingers as his occupied index finger pressed up, buried, rubbing deep inside of her.

She thought of a million sarcastic remarks, all of which were equally difficult to choke out while he was doing the things he was doing...

She was only half conscious of the sounds she was making, angling her hips up as he slid his finger halfway out and back into her.

"Shiiiit," he groaned against her neck. "Fucking hell, wanna taste you..."

She nearly lost control, just then, as his hot breath and raspy words sent a shudder down her body from neck to legs. But he stopped his finger's movements and lifted his hips just enough to slide his hand out from between them. She rubbed her heel against his tailbone, moaning with loss and frustration, but he quickly pulled himself down her body, panting as his open mouth dragged somewhat erratically down her stomach, between her legs...

She hooked her knees over his shoulders, his hands clutching her thighs as his tongue flicked over her, his fringe covering his eyes as he ducked deeper to get a better angle.

She let out a sound somewhere between a scream and a sob, seconds from being completely finished. He swore, muffled... _into_ her. And something about the sound and the feeling and the abstract idea of his words flowing through her, his voice... She opened her legs a fraction wider and pushed herself against his face, his tongue fluttering as spasms of pleasure waved through her.

One of his hands slid up her body, over her breast, and she shuddered, back arched as she cried out his name, falling halfway limp again as his palm flattened to her chest.

"Your turn," she whispered, drained and still shivering, body tingling brilliantly as he lifted his shaggy head to blink heavily up at her.

"I'm so fucking turned on right now," he half-gasped, dragging himself up her body. "This'll be embarrassing..."

She laughed giddily, clawing at his arms to pull him further up, until his erection was perfectly positioned between her legs.

"Shit," he laughed, arms trembling as he tried to support his weight with shaky muscles.

But he managed it, wrapping a hand around to her lower back and steadying her body as he melted into her, sliding completely inside her in one smooth movement.

She gasped, nearly choking on a scream, overwhelmed by such instant and complete satisfaction, as weeks of building desire and longing were blindingly resolved in a sea of purple and copper. Still recovering from her orgasm, she could hardly see straight, much less think properly, as he closed his eyes.

"Thank you," she breathed, laughing through impossibly heightened pleasure at her own slightly absurd choice of words.

"Oh _fuck_ ," he moaned, hardly laughing now as he dragged her left leg up over his hip, before lifting himself inches out of her, only to resettle into the depths of her warmth again.

"Oh god, Ron..." she shivered, tugging his hair until he crushed her lips with his again, kissing her solidly into the pillows, feathers forced out from silk cases to drift around them.

His lungs deflated, his chest compressing into hers, flattening her breasts to his muscles, stomach pulling back from hers as he breathed through his nose, but meeting with hers again as she arched beneath him. She dug a heel too deeply into the back of his thigh, and he responded with a firm bite to her bottom lip, dragging his body back away from her before complying and sinking again, releasing a full shower of feathers to fluff free from the mattress. Her hands drifted from his sides to his back, stacking up his spine to hold him as tight against her body as physically possible.

He reclaimed his own lips, only to run them thickly along the trail of her hairline, puffing hot air from his nose into her ear as the upward movement of his chest dragged her breasts up delightfully, nipples still thoroughly hardened against his smooth skin and powder-soft chest hairs. He kissed her nose, her cheeks, open-mouthed and sloppy, large right hand squeezing the soft flesh of her arse before finally releasing it to venture higher, thumb moving between their tightly bound bodies again until he relocated her left nipple, moving his index finger to join his thumb in a gentle pinch... growing firmer and more insistent as she responded with breathless groans, ankles climbing even higher up over his arse to push him deeper inside of her.

" _Fuck,_ Hermione..." he murmured, kissing his way down and back up her throat as she tossed her head back for him. But as his lips finally reached hers again, caressing her bottom lip between both of his, she released his back to place her palms firmly on either side of his face, drawing his eyes to her own as she stared into them, breathing in heavy, short bursts against his mouth. "What?" he whispered, pausing mid-motion to study her closely.

But with a thrust of her right hip, she pushed him sideways, regaining her balance as he caught on and flipped them the rest of the way, sheets tangling as her head and shoulders emerged out of them completely, now sitting on top of him, hair wildly covering half of her face as she dropped her palms to his chest... She grazed her fingernails over his own hardened nipples, and he sucked in a breath as he clutched at her waist, holding her firmly on top of him, buried inside of her.

She slid her hands along his collarbone and bent over him, breasts feather light against his skin, his chest hairs virtually standing on end for a better touch. She looked straight into his eyes, breathing in shallow spurts, and she grabbed a fistful of pillow, to the right of his head, as he tilted his neck back.

She kissed the stubble along his jaw, down his neck, to sensitive locations she'd discovered once before. Her tongue joined her lips in thick caresses, spine arching as he clutched even more firmly at her hips. She tried to move on top of him, to take on more of the work, but her bones were quickly dissolving to jelly, rendered almost completely useless when his wonderful left hand squeezed between them, down until he was rubbing against her soaked and swollen flesh.

" _Oh God_..." she cried, against his ear, "...bloody hell..."

He groaned and turned his head to the right, pressing his face into her messy hair.

"...keep up that _swearing_..." he slurred, and he moved his right hand around to flatten against her now arched lower back, slipping down to the top of her arse and pressing her tightly down onto him, turning away from her to squint up at the ceiling.

She bit his ear and shivered out a scream into it.

He half-moaned, half-whispered her name, and she lifted her body up onto her trembling palms, placed precariously on either side of his head. She shivered, managed to move her hips up a few inches, and with his hand still between their bodies, she met his eyes, and he joined her halfway as she dropped fully back down on top of him, crying out a series of exhales as she collapsed, completely limp, against his chest.

She felt a wonderful, familiar warmth, trickling between her legs as he hotly shuddered against the side of her neck.

For a full thirty seconds, they did nothing but breathe, wheezy and sporadic.

"Holy... shit..." he panted, muscles in a fit of pleasurable spasms as she rasped into the hollow behind his right ear.

Both of his arms fell suddenly out to his sides, completely useless. She rolled off him, into the space between his right bicep and his ribs, burrowing close as she sighed out a long breath with a shiver.

"I love you," she whispered to his shoulder.

"Love you so much," he breathed, closing his eyes as his right hand learned how to move again, sliding up over her arse to stretch, fingers wide, across her lower back.

A wonderful silence resumed, with her ear pressed to the side of his chest, listening to the calming beat of his heart, slowly steadying out to a peaceful pace.

"Do you remember the first time you thought about... this?" she asked, biting her lip through a smile as she slid her cheek up to his collarbone, waiting for his answer.

"What, shagging?" he said scratchily, clearing his throat. "With you, or in general? Shit. That's the same answer, actually."

She lifted her head, lightly resting her chin on his chest to gaze up at his face.

"Really?"

"Yeah," he smiled. "Well, sort of. I think I had nonspecific sex dreams before I consciously thought about it... fourth year, maybe. Dunno what they were, exactly, but I'd wake up and..." He shrugged, jostling her head. "You know?"

She laughed and closed her eyes as his fingers walked up her spine to twirl distractedly into her long hair. She cracked open her eyes again and pursed her lips.

"It's so odd thinking of you having sex dreams at Hogwarts."

He snorted, still twirling her hair.

"Yeah. Told you before I'd scar you if you ever found out even half the things I thought about before we got together..."

She swallowed as she felt her cheeks flush lightly.

"No," she started, "I only meant... Here, if I told you I had fantasies about you and me and the Prefect's bath, all through the second half of sixth year, how would that make you feel?"

She watched _him_ swallow now, before he narrowed his eyes, almost imperceptibly.

"Depends if it's a lie or not..."

She held his gaze and licked her lips.

"Definitely not a lie..."

She felt his chest tighten underneath her.

"Fucking hell... Really?"

She grinned at his shocked expression, splaying her fingers through his soft, copper chest hairs.

"See? It's odd, right?"

He blew out a heavy breath and stared at her.

"Not exactly the word I'd use..."

She blinked lazily, sighing contentedly as his hand wound up the back of her neck.

"Bloody hell," he continued. "If I'd known about this back then..."

"Go on," she urged, lifting a curious eyebrow.

"Dunno. I'd maybe have done something about it."

She shrugged, her chin rubbing against him briefly.

"Worked out pretty good the way it is."

"You're only saying that now because neither of us snuffed it during the war."

She wrinkled her nose, uncomfortable with the thought of what could have happened. She typically tried not to think about that sort of thing, ever, anymore.

"You've got no idea how many times I thought of that," he went on, "when I left you and Harry, and then after you kissed me, and we were fighting, and I couldn't _do_ anything about it..."

"I thought about it, too..." she admitted. "After I kissed you, I kept wondering how possible it might be to have a single second, just to talk to you... But there wasn't time."

"Right, yeah," he sighed. "It didn't occur to me much before that, to think about not having a chance if we didn't make it. Bloody depressing, if you'd _really_ fancied me, and we could have been together... for a little while, before-" He sniffed, changing course. "Should have talked it out with you sooner, but, you know."

Her eyes began to water, his own eyes too soft and casual, heavy-lidded... for such a deep conversation.

"Weren't we talking about shagging?" she whispered, attempting a smile.

"Aren't we still?" he grinned back.

She nudged him hard in the chest with the side of her elbow. He clasped her hand firmly to stop her, still grinning.

"Did you not just say we should have 'talked'?" she reminded him. "Unless you were planning on shagging me with words..."

He laced his fingers through hers, the back of her hand against his palm.

"Oh, I expect _that's_ one of your fantasies..."

"Shut up," and she lowered her cheek to his collarbone again, hiding her face from his, thinking of his swearing between her legs, earlier...

His right hand had quite thoroughly buried itself in her hair, fingers wrapped loosely over her scalp. And she closed her eyes, smiling, completely content with his solid warmth underneath her.

But, so close, so still, she was reminded of recent nights alone... of an expanse of days behind them now, when she'd been aching to touch him but had no way to do it.

"Do you have any idea how bad it got," she said quietly, "wanting you when you weren't around?"

"Yes."

His answer came so instantaneously that her eyes shot open, and she lifted her head again, to raise her eyebrows up at him.

He smiled at her, shrugging.

"Wanking got a bit sad..."

She laughed, pulling her right hand up out of his grasp to trace her fingertips gently up the side of his neck.

"Almost not even worth it," he continued. "Just made it more frustrating..."

His fingers curled around her wrist, and her eyes traveled over freckled knuckles, flexing tendons, veins extending down the back of his hand...

"That surprises me, a bit..." she said.

"Why?"

She exhaled slowly, staring at the angled first joint of his thumb...

"You're much better with your hands than I am..." she trailed off, blushing deeper.

He extended his fingers straight, over her wrist, fingertips touching his chest. And he tapped them, one at a time, from index to fourth.

"Only feels that way to you because I've got _much_ longer fingers than you have..." he said, a grin more than evident in his tone, even before she looked up to meet his eyes, feeling even more flushed.

"Yes," she shivered, "but it's not just that..."

"Go on."

His eyes remained locked with hers as she smiled, pressing her lips together.

"Can't explain, exactly."

She removed her hand from underneath his to trace the veins along the back of his hand, so gently that he almost instantly broke out in a light layer of gooseflesh.

"What were you saying about my hands being better than yours?" he choked, eyes fluttering shut as her fingertips softly traced back up over his knuckles, lifting pressure until the ends of her nails were grazing almost nonexistently down his wrist. "Shit, why's that feel so amazing?"

"Haven't I done it before?"

"Dunno..."

She watched his expression easing, eyes rolling behind closed lids. She shifted, sitting halfway up, to continue her feather-light touches across his chest, feeling him hold his breath as she circled his hardened nipples. He shuddered audibly as her fingertips zigzagged down his stomach, tickling across his hipbone, dropping off the side of his leg.

He twitched, and his eyes shot open.

"Sorry," she giggled, as his thigh muscles clenched. "You're so much more ticklish than I am. It's adorable."

He only flushed a shade or so, grinning as he shrugged.

"Shall we test that?" he teased.

His hand slipped out from her hair, and she willingly complied his request.

"Mm, do my back," she whispered, flipping away from him to lie on her stomach, trapping his arm...

"Gonna need this," he said, wiggling his forearm underneath her chest. She laughed and pushed up far enough for him to extract his right arm as he sat up, turning in toward her as she sank comfortably flat into the mattress, closing her eyes.

He brushed her thick hair off her back, so carefully she could have almost cried. And then, she felt the fingertips of both his hands hovering, just close enough to be questioned as actually touching. She sighed, trying to relax her anticipating muscles.

He began by drawing unknown patterns, back and forth and up and down, so random and uncalculated, with his hands easily spanning the width of her back. Almost instantaneously, her skin was tingling, all over, and she let out something between a moan and a squeak, lips parting as he continued, the right side of her face pressed into a single, thin, feather pillow.

She felt him shift, his bare right knee pressing against her right side. He flattened his palms to her back, after a moment, and exhaled deeply.

"You're bloody gorgeous."

"Shut up, Ron," she laughed, secretly grinning afterward, as he couldn't see her face from his position.

"You shut up."

He ducked down, and suddenly, his lips were on her skin, directly in the centre of her back, between his hands. He walked the fingers of his left hand down, over her bare arse.

"Taking advantage of me?" She teased, still grinning as her eyes cracked open.

"Surely you assumed I would..." he mumbled against her spine.

"Come here," she instructed, trying and failing to catch his eyes over her shoulder.

He removed his hands from her body and jostled next to her, stretching out until he was sliding halfway on top of her, chest to back. She laughed, pushing her arse up against his hip as his weight trapped her down. He brushed her hair over from her right shoulder to her left, effectively dropping half of it into her eyes as he kissed the back of her neck. She could feel his grin as he worked his way up with parted lips. Reaching some kind of goal, he nudged his nose into the curls at the base of her skull.

"Not to complain," she giggled, "but you're suffocating me."

"Sorry..." he whispered to the back of her left ear. Her eyes shut of their own will as she shivered.

He climbed fully over her, supporting his weight partially off of her with his elbows pressing into the pillows on either side of her head. His erection pushed against the top of her thigh, and she groaned, reaching up to grasp his left elbow, the easiest place to reach from her position. She shuffled her hips, almost unconsciously, which caused his erection to rub down between her legs.

He pressed his nose to her ear as he swore.

"...want you," she moaned, wondering why he seemed to be tensely holding back.

"You wanted your back touched," he explained, somewhat apologetically.

"And now, I want- oh, god..." His tongue traced the back of her ear, and she nudged his erection insistently, with her arse.

"Bloody hell," he whispered raspily.

"Ron..." she groaned.

"Was just trying to be fffair. You asked me so innocent..."

"Ron."

"Don't have to ask again," he said deeply, reaching down between her legs to find her wet opening. She spread her legs an inch wider, and he gripped her hip, sliding slowly inside of her. "Fffucking hell."

"Ohh, I forgot how different... it feels... like this," she choked, clenching a fist in the sheets.

"Feels different?" he echoed, mouth still so close to her ear that the heat of his breath was cascading all along her neck and cheek.

"Yessss..." she moaned, as he moved inside her. "Doesn't it for you?"

"Bloody tight, with your legs together..." he half-whispered, pushing his upper body a few inches off of her, to hold her more securely by the waist. "God, this is hot," he added, momentarily stalled as his hand cupped her arse.

He pulled nearly all the way out of her, her body sinking deep into the mattress when he buried himself inside her again. She flexed her feet, toes digging down into the mattress, and she let out a high-pitched squeak of pleasure. He ducked and kissed her shoulder blade as she raised her hips slightly off the bed.

"Want... to see... your face..." she breathed.

"Me too," he said, roughly, pulling out of her again and wedging a knee between her legs as he sat up to kneel behind her.

She twisted her body and bent her knees up until she was lying on her back, half propped against the headboard. He swallowed visibly as her eyes met his, glistening and piercing in firelight.

"Come here," she said softly, hand extended toward him as he nestled between her legs, still sitting on his knees, pulling her up into his lap.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and slid onto him again, chests clenched together as his hands climbed up her now-sweaty back. Angling her nose, his parted lips met hers, breathing into each other as she moved on top of him, clutching his shoulders. She panted into his mouth, before he grinned and closed both of his lips around her bottom lip, sucking gently as his left hand gripped her arse again, squeezing her closer. He bit her lip as he moaned, her body going a bit slack against him as she clawed the back of his neck.

He held her suddenly tighter, and she felt him restricting gravity as he leaned forward, slowly flattening her back to the bed again and sinking even deeper into her.

She cried airily as his forehead pressed against hers, eyes so close together now that, as he opened his, she could barely see their cerulean colour, bathed in shadow.

He lifted her right thigh higher up his hip, increasing his pace from this easier angle. And she pulled her arms in, tucking her bent elbows so she could clutch his freckled face in both hands.

"I'm not going to lose you..." she whispered, so softly she might have assumed he hadn't heard her... But his forehead creased as he moved back far enough to fully meet her eyes, in focus.

"Course not," he breathed, with a strange mixture of pleasure and concern.

"Don't stop," she smiled, silently begging her eyes to quit watering.

He exhaled sharply, inhaling through his nose as he slid his left hand up from her thigh to cover her right breast. Her eyes fluttered shut as he squeezed gently, slipping his right hand under her neck and kissing her deeply on the mouth again.

As his tongue met hers, his fingers pinched her nipple and his weight pressed down over her. And it was too much.

Gasping against his lips, she tightened her legs around him and whispered his name, eyes locking with his as he gathered her somehow even closer, his whole forearm underneath her shoulders as she clutched him back, her open mouth breathing in moans against his chin.

"Fuck..." he exhaled, spasms flowing out from their joined bodies to run down his trembling limbs.

They remained together, breathing hotly and staring back into each other's eyes. Finally, his lips turned up into a relaxed sort of smile, ducking to nuzzle his nose along her cheek before rolling sideways, sliding out of her but carrying her with him. She collapsed half on top of him, eyes closing blissfully as she inhaled his scent, mingling with the beautiful warmth of his body.

The one that wouldn't have to leave her.

"Hermione?" he rasped out, after a moment.

"Mm?"

"I didn't know it was that bad, before..." His voice caught in what she could only assume was a near-cry, and she lifted her head from his shoulder to look up at him, bringing their faces a few inches apart. His forehead was creased with concern again.

"What?" she asked lightly, blinking slowly to try and understand.

"You should have told me."

She pushed up further now, onto her left elbow, brow furrowed.

"Told you what?"

He swallowed, reaching across his body to run the fingertips of his left hand slowly down her cheek.

"You really missed me a lot, didn't you."

Her eyes widened, understanding.

"You arse," she breathed. "Of course I bloody well missed you."

"I know, but... Blimey. I feel like an idiot."

"Why?"

He studied her silently for another moment, fingertips pausing at her collarbone.

"Did you hide it from me, exactly how bad it was for you?"

She couldn't lie now. And anyway, it was over.

"Yes," she sighed. "What was I supposed to do? Break down and sob and beg you not to go back, every time? It was your choice. I wanted you to feel proud of what you were doing with your life. I thought you needed that."

He shook his head, very slowly.

"It was hard when I was away at Hogwarts, too," she reasoned, "but you never asked me not to go back."

"I always knew you'd have to finish school," he said softly. "I missed you like hell, every day, but it wouldn't have been right to ever make you feel guilty-"

"Exactly."

"But this isn't the same," he continued, looking pained again as his eyes creased at the corners. "When they asked me to join the team, a year ago, I thought- well..." He blushed, only slightly, but enough for her to notice. "Sod it."

Her eyebrows lifted.

"I thought I'd do it til we got... married, or had a kid, or something."

Her lips parted as she stared at him, eyes going a bit wider now.

"I thought I'd get some galleons saved up so we could buy a flat, and, by then, you'd be running the Ministry, and- ...and if we had kids, I could take care of them so you could keep on kicking people's arses at work..."

Stunned, she could hardly blink.

"Wow..." she breathed, eyes watering again.

"You've been so busy with your own job, and it was bloody awful being away from you, but ruddy spy work abroad pays a lot better than a local job at the Auror office."

"I-" she started, but he sniffed and interrupted her.

"I know you didn't care about the money. But _I_ did. And of course it's mental, because I cared so much about something that you weren't bothered with at all. But honestly, Hermione... I swear I _always_ cared _so_ much more about you. And if I had known how badly I was hurting you-"

"-then you would have quit, and it would have been for _me_ , and not for yourself."

"But that's the part I'm not explaining well," he said, "because really, those are exactly the same thing."

She stared down at him for a long moment, as his fingertips crawled again, the back of his hand brushing her hair away from her shoulder as he moved up to cup her jaw and cheek in his large, gentle hand.

She swallowed, his hand adjusting with the slight motion.

"You want to marry me?" she asked, in a tiny voice.

"Oi!" he laughed. "That's slightly beside the point."

"Not to me," she sniffed.

"Well, obviously I want that."

His hand dropped to her shoulder, and his blush betrayed the confident sound of his voice.

Despite the tears building up in her eyes, she smiled broadly down at him.

"And you want to stay at home and take care of- ... _our kids_?"

He shrugged.

"Figured I might."

She pressed her lips together, unsure how much longer she could keep from crying.

"Let's be reasonable," he said, clearing his scratchy throat. "It's not that being an Auror isn't an important job, but... Alright, to be completely honest, I can imagine... myself... maybe not... doing it forever."

"Even in London?" she asked, mildly incredulous.

"Reckon that'll sort of be a long conversation, to have together later... But yeah, even in London."

"Ron... really?"

She felt surprisingly relieved by this. And maybe all of the tension over him being gone from her for so many weeks at a time had overshadowed her actual fear of the job in general... not just the one that had him so far away, in unseen danger.

"Would that make me terribly boring?" he teased.

"No!"

He grinned as she tried to recover from her slight overreaction. She hadn't meant to sound quite so enthusiastic... Not yet. Not to a distant hypothetical.

"You sure? You might find yourself living with a bloke who works for his brother in a bloody joke shop and comes home early every night and... _reads_."

"Oh my god."

He scrunched up his face adorably, and she clutched his hand tightly in a mixture of real and exaggerated shock.

"Don't even joke about that, Ron."

"I'm not!"

She laughed as he laced their fingers together.

"All my fantasies are coming true," she sighed.

He snorted and lifted her hand to the side of his face.

"Should have known all I had to do to win your heart was be a lazy prat who _reads_."

"If you say that word again, I'm making you a book list."

"What word? _Reads_?" He raised an eyebrow, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Final warning."

Grinning, he turned his head to the side and kissed her palm, releasing her hand again to drop down his neck to his chest.

She blinked at him, shaking her head slowly.

"Ron," she started, pausing to exhale deeply, "I just... I don't know what to say."

He gave her a casual half-smile, shrugging.

"S'alright."

"I love you."

"That's a good thing to say," and he smiled wider.

She grinned back, sighing as she flattened herself to him again, tucking her head against his shoulder as he re-wrapped his right arm around her waist.

"I sort of hid it from you, too," he admittedly, softly, "how much I hated leaving you."

She puffed out a slightly frustrated breath against his chest.

"This is going to sound mad," he continued, slowly, "but it's almost like we've got to torture ourselves, just a bit, out of habit or something."

She laughed, extending her right arm straight across his stomach.

"That's terrifying," she said, "but it might be true."

"Let's stop that."

"Let's," she said through her grin.

The wind outside picked up, howling slightly with gusts of ice and snow. Ron's hand moved lazily up and down her back, his slow breathing pleasurably tickling the top of her frizzy head.

"It got bloody dark," he said after a while. "Didn't notice that happening, did you?"

"Mmm," and she shook her head against his shoulder.

With her next breath, she shivered, and he clutched her further on top of him, rubbing his arms more vigorously up and down her back.

"Should I fix the fire?" he asked, just as she had noticed the low glow flickering from the hearth past the foot of the bed, flames about to burn out.

"You _should_..." she sighed. "Wouldn't like you to move, though..."

"Hm, I _am_ a wizard."

She closed her eyes and smiled.

"Too bad my wand's somewhere in the pile of clothes I took off the second I got here..."

"Sounds like one of us has to get up."

"I've got it," he said, sliding out from under her and sitting up before she could protest.

But she sat up halfway anyway, to watch him as he stood, moving down to his discarded clothing and rummaging for his wand. Locating it, he knelt by the fire, conjuring a few logs from a tray nearby and working them into a growing flame.

Staring this way, silently across a room from him, she found it difficult to breathe... near impossible to put into words what he meant to her. All this time together, so many years of words that didn't quite mean what they tried to say. But now, he was here with her.

They had talked of the future, in a vague sort of half way that she supposed other couples did as well. But it meant something different, to her. And to hear him say it so clearly, today...

He was here. He was hers.

The things he wanted in life seemed so insignificant, to him, in comparison to the staggering way he loved her. And she had seen everything, his mind and his body and his soul. She had seen all of him, and he was more beautiful and more perfectly made for her than she could imagine.

"What?" he asked, hoarsely, and it was only then that she realised he'd been watching her as well, finished with the fire and standing, naked, at the foot or the bed, glowing.

"I just still can't believe it's real," she said, her own voice sounding so far away, even to her own ears. "I can't believe you don't have to leave in the morning."

His face lit with a brilliant smile, reaching all the way to his eyes, creasing them to happy slits of blue and white and black.

"Never have to leave, ever again..." he said, low and deep and as serious as she had ever heard him.

He crawled back up the bed, over her, gathering her to face him as he rested on his side, his skin so warm from being so close to the fire. She brushed his hair back from his eyes as she stared across their pillow at him. Lowering her hand to the centre of his chest, she felt his strong heartbeat, watched him breathe through parted lips, the bones of his face lit orange and dancing.

"I want to spend my whole life with you," she whispered, because though she knew he must know, there had never been any reasonable substitutions for saying the words aloud.

"That works out perfectly for me," he breathed back, and she watched his eyes fill with glistening tears as he touched his nose to hers, lifting his hand to her face before tilting and kissing her, so soft she could be dreaming.


End file.
